


Only Miss the Sun When it Starts to Snow

by Minya_Mari



Series: Summer Is Always Nice [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And also being confused about her feelings, Arya being Arya, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Multi, Original Character(s), Queen Arya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:10:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minya_Mari/pseuds/Minya_Mari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya wasn't as courtly as Sansa; but it wasn't Sansa who was Aegon's queen. (a.k.a, A follow up of Peach Trees and Little Talks; Arya when she's younger and new to the ways of being a Queen of Westeros.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The relationship between she and Arianne Martell was strained after Aegon made Arya his second wife. 

The entirety of court was a row when Aegon came back from the Wall, Arya Stark at his side; crimson draped about her shoulders.

Arya needed an army, and she could have that with a marriage to the King of Westeros, she could take the North back with a few vows she knew her husband would not keep.  The fact that Aegon had already gotten a child on her did nothing for her friendship with Arianne at all, not that Arya minded much.

Arya rested a hand on her swelling stomach, thinking on the daughter Aegon seemed so adamant that the child was.  Gendry watched her as she did, a smile touching his face.  "Missing the North, my queen?" he asked softly.

Arya rolled her eyes at her knight, a smile joining his. "You always know," she complained good-naturedly.

Gendry's hand came to rest on her shoulder and his lips tenderly brushed the side of her head.  "I am always here, Arry. Remember that." It was a promise from him, a promise that Aegon made frequently--though not in the same words-- when the past would make her fret for her unborn child's future. A vow to never leave her alone.

Arya rose, and his strong arms enveloped her.  "Thank you," she said, burying her face in his tunic and her arms coming to rest on his hips easily.  "Thank you for following me into this nest of snakes and not letting the dragons eat me whole."  She drew in a breath and relaxed against him. "Thank you for not letting go of me, even when I bit and kicked and screamed."

Gendry’s fingers danced lines up and down her back, and it reminded her of when Aegon was visiting Dorne; Gendry would share her bed and after they rutted away like rabbits his fingers would dance along her spine as they were now.  "I wouldn’t leave you, m’lady," he said, and Arya hit him lightly at the moniker. "And it might be the death of me." He added softly after, arms still tight and sure around her.

Arya lifted her head from his chest. "Then kiss me."

And he did.

　

.

　

.

　

Arya did not want to birth her child in King’s Landing.

She had insisted that she give birth in The Reach, with her sister at her side; Arya would never admit it to anyone else, but she had told Gendry that the thought of going into the birthing bed scared her.

Her aunt who looked so much like Arya had died in childbed, who was to say that Arya would not have the same fate?

But Sansa never left her side during Arya's stay at High Garden, invited her little sister to sit in her solar and dine on the fruits in the mornings, eat with her at night. 

Arya had brought Gendry with her, as she did when she travelled anywhere; that was a condition she had told Aegon she could not do without. 

She did love Aegon, but it was a sort that would hold nothing to the flame she held for Gendry.  Only one other love  was anything compared; but it wasn't the sort that was excepted in her family, and the sort that Aegon would not be able to ignore.

Jon Snow had since been legitimized to Jon Targaryen; he was The Wolf That Breathed Fire, but he was also her brother despite all that had happened. And yet she loved him not as a sister should love a brother.

But he was newly wed to his aunt, though men of the Nights Watch aren't to have wives or children or hold lands and titles. And he was going against everything he'd ever been taught by their father; Starks did not marry their family. Starks did not go against what honour had made them vow.

Arya knew how Jon felt; her heart wanted two different men than the one she'd made vows of marriage to.

　

She laboured for nearly two days with the babe and Sansa-- true to her word as a Stark-- did not leave her.Gendry would not leave the room, even when the maester told him to and it had made Arya laugh at him through the pain.

Red faced and squalling, the child was, and the Maester pulled it from Arya and passed it off to Sansa to wipe and bundle in red and purples of Targaryen colours. In a tired voice, Arya asked, "What is it?"

Sansa was beaming at her sister, the little silver-haired, pale bundle in her arms. "It is a little girl, sister. She looks like Mother did." Sansa told Arya, tears shinning in her Tully-blue eyes.

Arya held out her arms and hated how shaky they were. _Fierce as a wolverine. I have survived where my she-wolf aunt did not, I am not weak. I cannot afford to be_.

Sansa settled the babe at Arya's breast gently, and the girl stopped fussing; settling into sleep immediately.  Arya traced her child's features with a hesitant finger; and they did look like Catelyn Stark's. The soft features of the Tully's seemed out of place with the pale head of hair the little girl had, and when her tiny fist clenched around Arya's finger, the grey, grey eyes of Winter Kings stared back at her.

The septa and Sansa's hand-maidens replaced the sheets on the bed as Sansa helped her sister stand while they did. Arya didn't like the feeling of the after-birth between her thighs, nor the pain that followed.

Sansa ushered her children in to meet their new cousin,  told Gendry to go and clean himself up with a gentle hand on his arm, words sincere and soft.  When he showed signs of refusing, Arya scowled. "Go and clean yourself, stupid." Gendry jerked his blue eyes to her, and they showed so much love that Arya had to look away a moment. "You've been here for nearly two days; you need a bath," she scrunched up her nose. "You stink."

He laughed at that, and Sansa glanced between the two, an amused smile on her lips.  Arya knew that her sweet, gentle sister knew of her escapades with Gendry… and others.

Arya then turned her attention on her daughter, cradling the infant closer to her and letting her suckle. Sansa smiled down at the child at her side and ran a hand through Aeron's curly Tully-coloured hair, and the boy watched Arya with green orbs. "Hello, Aunt Arya."  The child greeted, Arya smiled at her nephew.  The child's next words made a startled laugh escape her. "The baby looks like a potato, mother."

Sansa looked horrified, and placed a flustered hand on her son’s shoulders. "Aeron!"

Arya adjusted her babe's position in her arms. "It's quite alright, Sansa. He's only little, leave him be."

Sansa rolled her eyes, but took her little sister's advice and turned her motherly glare onto the knight. Sansa patted Gendry's arm again. "Go and get something to eat while you're there. I'll be giving them both baths soon."

Gendry nodded, but gave Arya his eyes. His voice was thick as he asked, "What will you name her?"

Arya glanced down at her newborn. "Well, Aegon would wish for her to be named Rhaenys, I know."

"Oh,"

Arya grinned up her knight. "But, because of that simple fact… Naerys. Her name shall be Naerys Targaryen."

Gendry grinned back. "And the realm shall tremble at her will."

They both laughed as he left the room.

　

.

　

.

　

It was nearly two moons before Arya could walk without assistance, and those days  that passed where she could not even stand had annoyed her to no end.

Gendry walked alongside her now, as they wandered the gardens of Sansa's palace. 

Bran and Meera had come to visit; their curly-haired, grey-eyed children were running ahead, in and out of the isles made for walking between the flowers. 

"Naerys is a beautiful babe, so quiet as well." Meera commented as she watched her children run and play.  Brandon had decided to stay in the Keep; pouring himself over books in the library Willas Tyrell had shown.

Arya nodded. "I know, thank you. But somehow I feel that the next babe will not be so kind."

Meera laughed.

The children began to pick the brightest-coloured flowers as Arya watched them, and took a red-tipped rose the youngest offered. "Thank you, love."  She told Benard, a little grey-eyed boy no more than two.

The little boy giggled and ran back to his sister, who had already made a large effort to amble up one of the oak trees. Meera sighed before shaking her head. "Will this girl never learn?"

Lyanne Stark was a wild little thing; much like Arya herself was, she supposed. Always getting into mischief and dragging her younger brother in for the ride.

 _It is no wonder that they named her after Aunt Lyanna_ , Arya thought. _She is as wild as the winter she was born in. Like me._

Gendry watched on with silent amusement. "She's just like you, m'lady."  He told Arya.

Arya laughed. "I was just thinking the same thing."

Meera did eventually get Lyanne from the tree, but no sooner had she, did the little girl start up mischief again.  Arya felt a pain in her breast as she watched Meera shuffle after her rambunctious daughter.

Arya remembered how Catelyn would do that, and when she finally did have her in hand, her mother pass her off to her father who would smile and chuckle at her adventures all the while.

Sansa calling for her to join them brought Arya out of her thoughts abruptly; she turned with a practiced smile and said that she would only be a moment.

.

.

　

Aegon finally visited just as Naerys reached three moons old.  Arya had out-right refused to travel (though she was more than capable on a horse, with or without her daughter in the saddle with her) and had written for him to visit them in High Garden.

A defiance, small, but still there.

When his wiry, but strong arms came around her, Arya felt the tension that had been present since the birth of Naerys ease and slip away from her form with a sigh.  "You truly are a mystery to me, my love." He whispered against her hair, words soft as his fingers gently pushed back the tangled mess that was her hair from her face.

Arya let out a small laugh, more for his benefit than hers and turned to face him. "A girl must keep some secrets, my lord."

Hurt flashed across Aegon's face at the use of formalities, and he let Arya go. "Why did you send for me? Why did you not come home sooner? I am king--"

" _A_ king, Aegon. One of two which remain to this world," she told him haughtily. "And King's Landing is not my home, it will never be; and you making me stay in that nest of snakes and liars is cruel."

Aegon opened his mouth to protest, but Naerys began to fuss; only a small whimper to begin with, but it seemed the older Arya's daughter got, the louder her lungs became. "Shh… my love," Arya crooned, lifting her daughter into her arms gingerly; she still did not know how to hold a babe, and it made her feel a terrible mother. 

But still, Naerys quieted the moment she was nestled against her mother's breast; content to be held.  Patting the babe's back gently, Arya said, "May I be excused from court while Naerys is young? I want nothing of King's Landing, Your Grace. I would wish to spend my years in Winterfell with my brothers or even--"

Aegon shook his silver-blonde head, anger seeping into his features. "No. I won't have it; Naerys is as much my child as yours, Arya."

Arya's hand fisted around the material of the child's tiny gown. "You won't have it?" she repeated softly, and she saw as Aegon realised his mistake.

"Arya…"

Arya placed Naerys back in her make-shift cot.  Patting down her daughter's short, curly locks ; she smiled. Arya turned to face her husband.  "I wouldn't have you, if I could, did you know?" she said in that same, quiet detached tone. "I would tear away this face and leave this horrid land, if I could."

She finally lifted her eyes to meet his, those same purple-blue eyes she'd become smitten with the moment she saw them. "But I can't. Because now I am a wife; the She-wolf of the North turned simpering bitch and _I hate it._ " Seating herself on the chair next to the bed, Arya stretched out her legs; long and nimble as a cat's. "You have Arianne Martell to get children on; boys that will carry on your name. You have two wives Aegon, where your brother will have none. You do not need me--"

"Stop," he commanded hoarsely.  Arya knew that Aegon held affection for her, and knew that on some level, she held for him the same. But what he was ordering her to do hurt her too much.

She turned from him, in favour to stare down at their daughter; a little being that tied her to him in such a way that made her want to hate the babe.

But she couldn't; and she _had_ tried. The one person, she figured, that she could never hate would be Naerys Targaryen.

They had made her together with what little love there was between them, and Arya had made vows before all and any gods; she had no way out now.  To break those vows would be to shame House Stark, to bring shame to what was left of her family; small and scarred as it was.  "I love you, you know?" Came his voice, soft and cracked after a moment or two.

Arya flicked her grey eyes over to her husband, emotionless and cold.  "I know."

Aegon's mouth turned down at the sides. "Why are you being this way?"  He demanded. _Because you have trapped me with my own ambitions_.  She thought bitterly.

Arya bit the inside of her cheek; a habit she seemed to have picked up from Jon in her time at the Wall. "I do not want to live the rest of my existence in King's Landing. I do not want to have to ask of you to have time to visit my family, Aegon Targaryen. That is not why I agreed to wed you."

She watched as he processed her words, as a mirthless smile came across his handsome features. "No, that isn't why you agreed at all, was it? It was because I had power that you needed, dear wife, or did you forget?" His tone was as biting as hers was monotone, but Arya kept her face still.

"You needed my assistance just a much, Your Grace." She said, an edge seeping slowly into her words.

Aegon snorted, mouth twisting unattractively in a way she'd seen Dany do once before.  "I did no—’’

"I married you because I loved you, you stupid!" Arya cried, rising to her feet angrily. "I loved you before, even when I was cold and angry and broken, I still found room to love you… but now…"

Aegon stilled, dark eyes wide at her words.  Arya found her courage, mouth set in a grim line she said, "I loved you, for true I did and I can admit to it now; I still hold some respect for you Aegon… But please do not ask me to spend the rest of my days in the place that brought me the most unhappiness."

Aegon held out his arms for her, as Jon had done for her so many times; and this time, Arya went to him willingly and meekly.  With his arms around her, strong and sure, it was easy to forget what was waiting for them outside of this room; easy to forget that they were years older and wiser than when they'd made the pact to each other.

"You do not want _anything_ of King's Landing?" He asked, lips brushing her forehead.  Arya raised her head, chin held high; their noses bumped together they were that close.

She smiled at him. "I want _you_."

His indigo eyes flashed with a heat, and Arya scowled. "Not here, idiot. Not now…" she paused suddenly bashful. "But… but I do want you for my husband; if I had to marry I am glad it was you."

Aegon pulled her tighter against him, arms circling her waist in such a way that would make Sansa swoon. "Naerys will want a brother…" he told her with a boyish grin.   
Arya scrunched up her face. "Mayhaps she will, but it is my body that will be put through its paces, Aegon. At least give me a year to rest."

  
  
It was barely over that, when Arya felt the sickness settle in her stomach one morning after the next. Barely two and ten moons if that, was all it took until Aegon managed to get a child on her; and gods knew that it wasn't through lack of trying. 

He was trying to make her happy, she knew, because he was always hovering, waiting for her crack and become that savage thing he'd known barely three years prior.  But Arya wouldn't give the highlords that satisfaction; so she grit her teeth and beared it with a timid smile that would have made Sansa and Mother proud.

She wasn't terribly large yet, but her stomach was already starting to strain against the gowns Aegon dressed her in. 

Naerys was now managing to lift herself to stand, chubby little hands clutching at Arya's legs; the biggest smile Arya had ever seen on her tiny face.

"Mumma, took!" She cried, words mumbled; and no matter how hard Arya tired, she could not get her daughter to pronounce 'look' with an L. 

Arya grinned down at her. "Look at what, my love?"

"Dagons!"

"Dragons," Arya corrected absently, before lifting her daughter into her arms. "Yes, Naerys. Dragons; can you name them?"

Naerys giggled and pressed her face against Arya's collarbone, after a moment or two, she spoke clear and true in broken High Valyrian. "Rhaegal is the green one, Drogon is the big angry one and Viserion…"  
Arya shifted her daughter's weight. "And Viserion?"

Naerys beamed up at her. "Viserion is Uncle Jon's!"

Arya grinned back, but felt a pain in her breast. Jon Snow had since been legitimised and had married Daenerys Stormborn; but Arya's daughter need not know that. "Yes, my love. You are correct." She praised and Naerys giggled again.

Arianne had yet to produce an heir, and between the two of them, it looked to be a competition of whom it was could birth a boy and hold their seat as High Queen. Arya had told her many times that she had no want for it, that if Arya had had a choice she'd not marry Aegon again. 

 _But,_ Arya thought. _Winter has fled, and I am stranded in the south, with vipers poised to strike and dragons wanting to eat me whole_.

Gendry was on patrol, and so had not accompanied them to the Pits; and Arya knew that Aegon had had something to do with it. Aegon knew-Arya knew that he did-but her kingly husband would not dare lift a finger against Gendry, at least not while Arya still had breath left in her lungs.

And that was when she was sure that being feared was better than being loved.


	2. Chapter 2

The babe was a boy, and though the birth was quicker than with Naerys, he would not stop bawling unless held.

Naerys had proudly proclaimed that he be named Daeron the Dear because he was so quiet with her around. His pure silver hair was only just starting to grow in, and his bright purple eyes ever watchful for his elder sister.

And, before long, Daeron was pulling himself up as Naerys had been doing nearly a year before and war was threatening to break out.

The Martells were upset, Mycella Lannister was trying to get backing for her claim, and the Wildlings were trying to break past what was left of the Wall.

Naerys could pronounce her words properly and Daeron was beginning to talk before a raven came. Aegon had given it to her as she undressed for bed, hair mussed and eyes guarded.

"Jon asks for men." He mumbled against her shoulder as he curled his form around her own. It was funny, she thought. That he sort out her counsel and company when she was not nearly as inviting or warm as Arianne.

Arya shrugged tiredly and moved her head slightly to look back at him. "Then send them," she said.

Aegon snorted. "What? No wise words of counsel for me now?" Arya moved to face him, mouth quirked downwards. "He is your brother, your uncle by marriage if the laws of the Watch would allow it." She told him, hands coming up to dance along his fringe-line. "But I want naught to do with him. Send them because he needs them."

Aegon frowned against her hands. After a beat, he spoke carefully and soft. "What happened between you and he? You both were close, before."

Arya pulled her hands back and used them instead to brace herself as she sat up. "We were," she agreed with an impetuous toss of her head. "But that was when we were different people, Aegon. Jon and I, we went our separate ways a long time ago." She considered her words, considered the fact that they might very well be a lie; she had, after all, become quite good at lying to her husband. Jon and she had said their goodbyes before Aegon had reached the Wall, long before he had proposed a marriage pact to her. They _had_ been different people then-still very much the same children their father had left behind.

Mayhaps that was why they had latched onto one another so quickly and in such a way that made Arya wish she had been selfish enough to throw away Aegon as he had almost Arianne Martell.

But her little brothers needed the men Aegon was willing to give with a marriage, and her family would not survive another war; Arya knew this much without a doubt.

Still, it hurt her.

Aegon watched her face for a moment, and Arya quickly pushed back her thoughts for fear she was being read like a book. The side of his mouth rose in a smile. "You always-without fail, I might add- do that."

Arya cocked her head to the side, a question. Aegon brushed back a lock of unruly hair from her face. "You close off."

Arya's eyes softened into the smallest of smiles. "A habit, I suppose."

"Will you go in my stead?" He asked after a second. "The men will need to be escorted to Winterfell, at least."

Arya frowned, and Aegon's thumb smoothed it out. "But Naerys and Daeron…"

"Will be fine, I assure you. Arianne will care for them, you know." At the face Arya pulled, Aegon laughed. "If not, I can always send a raven to your lady sister." He told her lightly.

Arya grinned. "Sansa told me she wished to be more involved with the two."

Aegon leaned forward, and she allowed his heated kisses to let her forget.

.

.

It had been longer than Arya would have liked since she'd seen Winterfell's walls.

The snow that had blanketed the ground a few short years before had long since melted away to show dark green grass and sloping hills for miles around. It made Arya miss her home with a fierceness she had only known in loving her daughter.

The raven that flew over head cawed at the sight of her, and Arya beamed up at her brother. "Couldn't greet me in your other form, Bran?" The raven cawed once more before flapping back to Winterfell.

Gendry had stayed behind in King's Landing at Arya's behest, to care for her children. It had put Aeon off his game somewhat, having his wife's lover stay while she ran one of his errands.

Benard was her little shadow the entirety of her stay. The beautiful babe he'd been was already beginning to fade away.

 _They should not have to grow up so fast_ , Arya thought. _They should not have to face the trials we did_. She shared a look with Bran as she thought that, and he seemed to know. His lips thinned and he tilted his head, before welcoming her into Winterfell's walls as King in the North and Lord of Winterfell.

Arya did not hug him as she would have when she was ten and climbing walls with him; that time had passed. She simply thanked him for his hospitality and curtsied like a proper lady before turning to her men and dismissing them to their tents. Bran did not trust her as he had, and that much was fair; Arya had done very little to earn it back after returning to Westeros a stranger with his sister's face.

But still, Benard and Lyanne would pester her for tales of her adventures in Braavos and beyond the Wall. What did dragons look like? Did Wildlings truly try to drink your blood? And when was Naerys coming to visit next?

She, surprisingly, held love for the two toddlers. Arya Stark did not love many people. It wasn't that she did not want to; just that all those years had hardened her heart to stone, and bitterly, Arya realised that she deserved the title Lady Stoneheart more than her long-dead lady mother ever did.

Though she had left the House of Black and White; Arya Stark found that she could never find the right face to wear around her family-they would know if she lied or if the ghosts and ghouls of people past were haunting her.

Bran knew better than most, Arya found. He could simply look at her and know when it was a charade and that the emotions she was displaying were a farce.

It was always tense when the two were in the same room. Meera seemed to notice most of the time, usually placing a calming hand on her husband's strong shoulder and offering Arya a small smile that said so much.

Meera's brother had passed away because of green-sight, the crannogman had told her once; a harsh thing that had bitten Bran to the core.

Jojen Reede had been Bran's first true friend, and Meera his first love. And Bran was one of the few, that though he was physically crippled, that was not yet mentally scarred as the rest of the older Starks were.

Like Arya herself was.

So, true to her form, Arya found herself asking quite bluntly one evening, "How did Jojen die, Bran?"

The warmth of the fire kept the cold from the stones at their feet at bay, and the false light danced across her little brother's face. "What happened in Braavos?" He returned evenly; but he was not as trained in keeping his expression bland and Arya could see the hurt that she had inflicted clearly in the way his eyes tightened and the way his jaw set. Her stomach churned. Whether it was because of Bran's weakness or that she had just exposed them like a flesh wound, she did not know. Arya did not bother explaining herself, did not apologise, not only because she knew Bran would not accept it, but that he wasn't expecting one from her either.

So, instead, she answered his question. "I was a Faceless Man, and I did as I was told for a time; I killed men, women and once even a child." Arya paused. "That was when I left them."

Bran's Tully-eyes widened a fraction at her confession, obviously not expecting her to say such things. Arya flicked her eyes to him. "How did Jojen Reede die, Brandon?" she asked in a much more timid tone, one that had gotten her results from both Aegon and Jon on more occasion than one.

Brandon Stark was no different.

"The Visions take their toll, Arya. And Jojen had been theirs long before I had known him." He said in a quiet but strong voice, eyes gentling as he saw her listening intently.

Arya rose from her seat, the night robes that hung baggily off her body swirling around her. Her hand ghosting just above his shoulder, she said, "I am sorry for your loss, and my words are all I can give you." With that, Arya stepped daintily to the door. "You gave me an army with a marriage that you did not want. You have already given me enough." A pause. "Sister."

The recognition that he hadn't truly given to her in years gave her a jolt to hear. Arya froze in her steps.

"...Thank you, brother."

And she left without another word spoken.

 

* * *

 

She heard the men groan a collective sigh of relief as The Wall came into view. Arya let out a laugh at that. "Come on, men! Nearly there!" she called to the lagers at the back.

Kicking her heels against her mare's sides, Arya took off down the slope hooting; Nymeria running alongside her with as much vigour.

Jon greeted them all with a wide spread of his arms, a nod of his head. When the three hundred new men had been seen to, Jon embraced her tightly; hands that had once known her body better than she did herself, lifting her from the ground as he swung her around.

When they parted, they were still much too close; Arya easily felt his breath upon her face and liked that she could make out a flush on his face.

But he was now her good-brother; and though they had agreed to put their feelings aside-they were still very much there. It was Gilly's son, Little Sam who interrupted them.

"L-Lord Commander, ser."

Jon sighed, but smiled at the lad. "Yes, Sam?"

The boy held out a piece of parchment, seal unbroken with the sigil of House Targaryen. "A raven for you, Lord Commander." Jon clasped the boy's shoulder. "Thank you." The boy bowed awkwardly and shuffled off towards the Last Hearth. Jon's gloved hand came to rest on Arya's arm. "Come," he said with a grin. "Let's go get inside. It's freezing out here."

Arya laughed. "Yes, lets."

She wasn't sure just whom it was that initiated the kiss. They had been reading over maps and plans for rebuilding the Wall and manning it, laughing over how much Little Sam was so much like a man that wasn't his father when he gave her a funny look and then they were devouring each other.

He did not love Daenerys Stormborn, and their marriage had only lasted a year before the Watch called upon him again to lead. It was Jon's duty; just as it was Arya's to marry Aegon and birth him children when she'd rather be fucking his brother.

But that did not erase the fact that that letter had told of Jon's daughter. That would mean that he'd been with Dany more than once, and that it had probably been just before the Watch had called upon him.

Arya pretended that it did not bother her as much as it did and kissed him deeper. She had already shrugged out of her furs and her nipples were hard against the cold.

"Well, Lord Snow," she started. Jon ducked his head and his lips closed around one of her breasts before beginning to suckle like a babe. Hooking one leg over his hip, Arya grind against him.

The rest of the night was a blur and full of pleasure.

Only with Jon did she truly feel at home.

 

Arya was on her way back, nearly at the gate of King's Landing, when she realised that her moon blood had come late.

She did not voice it to Aegon at first, not even to Sansa, her sweet sister.

It was when Arianne Martell was declared with child that Arya felt as if she'd been slapped. They were similar in size, though Arya was the larger; just starting to show the babe that grew inside, and Arya delighted in the anger that grew in the Dornish woman's eyes as she saw that fact.

But Aegon had sent her away to get a child on Arianne; that had been why Dorne had been upset in the first place, she knew. It did not make the reality any less harsh.

Aegon was wearing an apologetic smile when Arya finally presented herself to court some three days after arriving, and then it turned to one of excitement when she straightened and her stomach jutted out proudly.

Sansa stood off to the side with her brood of little flowers, a beaming grin on her face. Encouraging, even now; even though she knew that the child was not Aegon Targaryen's. Sansa could just look at Arya and know; all of Arya's siblings could just tell - they could make out something that Arya herself could not pick up on- and know they'd been lied to. It wasn't fair.

But Arya was far enough along in her pregnancy for the child to be the King's. And Sansa would never out her.

So that was the lie she told him.

Sansa stayed in King's Landing for the entirety of Arya's pregnancy. The court was in an uproar over Arya's suspicious bump. It was large enough now to be of the King's seed, some argued, but the King had been with Lady Arianne the most during that time, others said.

Arya didn't pay them much mind. She knew truth and would never speak of it.

She had been in her chambers reading quietly when Gendry had opened the door and simply stared at her. Such a sorrow raged in those blue, blue eyes of his. Such a sadness.

Arya closed her book and placed it on the table beside her bed before flicking her eyes up to his and opening her arms for him. He knew, on some level-she knew that he did-about the child. And that she could never carry one that belonged to him.

Gendry's strong arms came about her and he wept. Soon enough she joined him; she who hadn't shed a proper tear in years. Arya wept with him.

And together they cried and clung to each other for the things they'd lost and for the promises that were never kept between them; the things that could have been. The Great Mayhaps.

If he had been a lord or she truly a lowborn like she'd pretended in the past, would they have gotten married? Would they have even met?

"If only," she choked out after, hands laced through his like vines and lashes wet with tears.

"If only." He echoed, tone final. He kissed her then, gently, softly, and then he pulled back only to rest his forehead against hers. "I love you," he told her gruffly, hands tightening against her.

Arya held her eyes closed a second longer than needed before opening them and locking with his. "As I love you." She returned, a sad smile touching her face.

It even reached her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Arya was certain that the babe was a boy by the way he would sit to the back of her; Daeron had done the same thing while she was round with him.

Her little prince was always asking about the babe; excited to be a big brother. He would toddle about her, gap-toothed grin on his face as he asked, oft Naerys was there as well, a small, patient smile on hers.

Naerys had gotten so big in the space of only three months; her hair had grown a little longer and she had learned many and more words. She also pestered Aeron to teach her to play with the practice swords.

Arya thought often on how much her daughter was like her. She could see her from the cushioned seat she sat upon; Naerys was ambling after her cousins.

Aeron and Brandon were playing King of the Mountain on one of the rocks and Arya's daughter was beating them both. Being only a year younger than Brandon, and as smart as Aeron-just as calculating as well-she managed to keep the boys off her rock for nearly half an hour before she grew bored of the game and leapt from it.

The garden breeze was warm against Arya's skin and Daeron snuggled closer to her.

"It is a nice day." Gendry said above her shoulder.

Arya hummed in agreement.

Nymeria padded forward from where she lay at Arya's feet to head-butt the bastard knight's shoulder affectionately.

"Summer is always nice." She told him before going back to her book.

 

Arya had already named the babe before he'd come forth from her. And Torrhen was grasping her finger while she murmured nonsense to him not a moon later; staring wide-eyed at his round face as if he were her firstborn.

 _He is such a beautiful baby_ , Arya thought as she watched her son roll over and begin to crawl around the nursery. Black wisps of hair sat atop his head, and in place of the grey eyes known to Stark, there were eyes so violet they were almost blue.

And sometimes Arya caught herself thinking that mayhaps he truly was Aegon's. After all, they shared the same eyes, did they not? But then the truth would come slinking back, Arya's own guilt not far behind.

And the strange thing for her was that she didn't feel guilty for cuckooing Aegon, but that Torrhen would never be allowed to know of his father.

A letter was given to her four moons after Torrhen's birth; it bore the seal of the Night's Watch. Jon was congratulating her on her boy's birth.

As he did every time she gave birth, but this time there was so much more meant in the letter. An underlying: _Is it mine?_

If she ever saw Jon Snow again, she would tell him that yes, yes of _course_ he's yours. _Torrhen is ours and he's perfect_.

But Arya Stark could never trust a raven with that.


	3. Talk of Bastards and Not-Quite-Queens

Aegon's bastard wasn't loved in court.

Arianne loathed the sight of the poor child while Arya felt nothing while looking upon the boy but detached interest. 

He was as pretty and well-mannered as his father; pretty because Aegon looked more a woman than Arya on most days.  Well-mannered because if he wasn’t, the Martells wouldn't have let the boy live.

Haydyn Blackfyre. A cursed name in Westeros, Blackfyre was; and Arya had been taught enough history lessons to know that if he ever so much as spoke out of turn to Arianne—or mayhaps even Daeron when he was older—blood would ensue.

Daeron had only recently passed his eighth name day, and he’d pushed the poor child into the dirt at Torrhen and Jhaeherys’s sixth birthday celebration.

The boy hadn’t done anything; he had only been talking to Daenerys’s daughter, Rhaelle.

Daeron was becoming cruel, that much Arya was certain of.  But, she also figured that if her son was cruel he must have inherited it from herself, for Arya felt a particular cruelness and jealousy rise in herself whenever she looked upon young Rhaelle Targaryen.

Whenever Arya happened upon Jon Snow’s daughter, she felt a peculiar feeling rise up in her chest; not quite jealousy, not quite happiness for what little piece she could have of her love.

And she hated the child for that.

After Daeron had pushed Desmera Redwyne's son, Naerys had promptly shoved her brother back and told him sternly that Haydyn was their brother and that blood protects blood, but her little brother didn’t so much as bat an eyelid at her.

He said, instead, that if she ever did such a thing again, he would have Duck behead her.

She who had been his world since he’d been born.

Arya had decided to take action then, and had lifted the little boy from the ground; given her son a glare that would freeze hells over, but Desmera Redwyne had begun to shuffle over before Arya could berate her son.

Haydyn Blackfyre did not cry, and for that Arya respected the child; offering him a smile that was returned hesitantly.

Lady Desmera awkwardly curtsied to Arya. "I am so sorry, My Lady. I—’’

Arya cut her off, stating plainly, "You needn’t apologise, Lady Desmera. My son was being a prick."

Desmera Redwyne did not know how to respond to that, Arya could tell by the way her neck and face flushed pink and that she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before Arya offered a smile to the woman who had fucked her husband.  "But please, for the boy’s safety; never bring him to the capitol again. There are too many people here that would take advantage of a boy such as him." Arya told her, she then turned on her heel and ushered her children back to where Arianne and her brood were sitting.

Little Jaena was barely two, and was pure Targaryen, a complete opposite to her elder brother. Short, fluffy tuffs of silver locks hung around her ears as she beamed up at Jhaeherys.

Arianne glanced up at her, a genuine smile on her face. "Troubles?" the High Queen asked.

Arya seated herself and pulled Torrhen into her lap; her youngest giggled.  "Not quite, Arianne." Arya told her.

The Dornish woman shrugged, and the smile melted away as she scrunched up her nose. "But how dare Aegon bring his bastard to our sons’ name day celebration. No wonder Daeron acted out the way that he did."

Arya did not agree with her, not in the slightest; but they were only just starting to build a friendship between them and Arya found that she did not want to lose whatever connection they had.

"Daeron was already tired from all the activities today," Arya found herself saying. "The appearance of Desmera’s son did not help the situation, no doubt."  And then: _When in all the seven hells did I start to act like Sansa? Like some demure wife who has nothing better to do than to gossip about how many women her husband has fucked?_

Torrhen fidgeted in her lap, pointing excitedly to Ser Loras in his detailed armour. "Look, Mother!"  Arya amused her son and rested her chin on his small shoulder.

"At Ser Loras?"

Torrhen nodded at her.

Naerys was watching wide-eyed as the jousters took up position, her thin fingers wrapping themselves around Daeron’s arm as she rested her head on his shoulder.  It was innocent, the way they treated one another, Arya realised. She also found that it could turn from child love between a brother and a sister to lovers very quickly.  Particularly with Targaryens.

Torrhen patted her knee and said in a quiet voice. "It’s okay, Mother."

Arya was caught off guard at that. Staring blankly down at her son she mimicked a fish that she’d once seen Theon catch in a river not that far from Winterfell’s walls.  He had left it on the bank to die, and it had gasped frantically for a minute before it died from lack of oxygen.

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, she finally settled on her words. "I love you, Little Wolf."  
Torrhen gave her a gap-toothed smile. "I already knew."

　

.

.

　

It was funny, Arya mused,  at how much Torrhen had begun to look more Stark than Targaryen, even with his violet eyes and pale skin.  His hair had grown to be a shaggy brown, the same colour as her own and different to Jon's.

He looked just like her, her Little Wolf.  The baby fat hid the long face that was there, making it appear round and chubby; just as babes should be. 

Torrhen would run after Naerys and Daeron, just as Naerys had been doing with Aeron and Brandon when she was his age.

Sansa had long-since gone back to High Garden, taking her flowers with her. 

Arya found that she missed her sister's company, and so, found herself more and more in her children's company. She would not go anywhere near Arianne, the tension between the two was thick enough to cut with a blade.

Aegon had begun to share Arianne's bed more oft than Arya's own, and so Arya had started up with Gendry again. And he warmed her bed for a month before Aegon had come to her door one night.

Arya had crossed her arms and cocked a brow. "Come slinking back, have we?" she'd asked, and Aegon simply kissed her thoughts away.

　

Being with child a fourth time made Arya sure that the days of adventure for her were over.  Her back ached and her feet swelled, she craved food that would have repulsed her if she'd not been pregnant. All in all, it was much the same as the last three times, but Arya was older and expected these things to happen.

Torrhen, Naerys and Daeron all crowded around her in the last few days of her pregnancy.  Arya could not move, ankles too swollen and back too sore, and so Arya would tell them tales from Braavos and the Godswood in Winterfell.  And, on lazy days she would tell them of Good Queen Alsyanne and The Winter Rose. Sometimes Aegon would sneak in and drape himself along the end of her featherbed to hear them, too.

What Arya did not expect to happen, though, was for the child to get stuck in her, and for the Maester to have to pull the babe from her. Vaguely Arya remembered that the Red Comet was glaring brightly outside, staining the sky red once more after almost sixteen years.

It hurt her. The screams that scratched at her throat were proof enough of that.  And she clenched her fingers around Aegon's own so hard that he grimaced.  She wished desperately for Gendry to be there with her too, but he had been sent out hours ago when Aegon had come to her.

"Here we go, Your Grace." One of the handmaidens said, but the world dipped into blackness and Arya did not hear.

　

.

.

　

Arya did not see through Nymeria's eyes,  Nymeria was long since dead.

Instead, Arya saw through Viserion's eyes; and it had been a very long time since she had been inside the bastard dragon's mind.

That dragon belonged to Jon Snow, a Targaryen truly, but many still doubted the sincerity of his bloodline. The white dragon did not, and had chosen him as a master.

The Wall was melting under the summer sun and it warmed her to her bones.  Closing her eyes and humming, she responded to the pull of her master on the bond that they shared.

Viserion missed the scratches under his chin that the dark-haired girl would give him, but the thought was quickly erased when his master offered him horse meat.

　

The feeling of fire building in her belly woke Arya from her fever.

Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, Arya groaned when the light from the window blinded her.

There was movement to her right, and then she heard a woman call, "She is awake! She lives!"

After a moment, Arya recognised the voice as Meera's and it sent a shiver through her. How long had she been asleep for, should that they send for her brothers and sister?

Aegon peered around the door, holding a small bundle swathed in purple quilts.  "Arya, my love?"

Arya was tended to by her handmaidens and her children's septa, then propped up by pillows so that she could see her newborn in her husband's arms.  Arya grimaced. "How long was I asleep for, Aegon?"

Aegon sat by her feet, but did not meet for eyes. Arya scowled. "How long, Aegon? It seems that it was long enough for you to call for my family and make them comfortable."

Aegon made a face stuck halfway between anger and sadness. It was queer to look. "I thought that you might die. It scared me, Arya." He adjusted the babe in his arms. "You were gone for nearly two moons."

Arya eyed her child, and Aegon followed her eyes, grinning down at his daughter. In a soft voice, he said, "We have taken to calling her Visenya." He flicked his violet eyes up at her. "The Promised Princess."

Arya frowned. "But she will have no Rhaenys or Aegon."

Aegon startled, glanced quickly up at her.  "You would allow intermarriage?" he asked. 

 _Allow_? she thought blithely. _Never_. 

"I do not like the thought of my children marrying each other." Arya replied diplomatically.  That small part of her argued back, _But you would sooner lay with your brother than your husband! How could possibly hope and strive to set a better example to your children when you do what it is you say not to?_

Aegon got up and set Visenya in her crib.  "But you would allow for it?"

Arya sighed. "You want truth?"  
Aegon stilled by the crib, eyes locked on Arya's own for a moment. "Yes, Arya. I want to know your opinion on this; they are yours just as much as they are mine."

Arya let out a mirthless laugh. "That is a lie." At his confused look she clarified. "I had not been here half of their lives, it is true do not give me that look. I was at the Wall for three months of Daeron's life--he was barely two, if you recall, and a day is an awfully long time to a child, let alone three moons--if I had not spent so much time with him after I'd returned he'd have thought Sansa or Ashara or, gods forbid, Arianne Martell to be his mother."  Aegon looked as if he were going to interrupt and Arya scowled. "Don't," she told him sternly. "I am telling you what it is you wish to know."

Aegon sat down next to her legs on the bed. Arya smoothed the sheets on her thighs. "I will not change my thoughts on this subject. But it will not matter when they come of age; it will be either they wish to marry outside of the family or they do not." Arya rolled her shoulders. "Or you may even push them into it."

Aegon scowled. "I will not," he replied with the same calmness. "I married once for love, Arya. My children deserve the same."

Arya let out a laugh. "But I did not, Aegon." Hurt flashed across his face, but Arya found that she did not truly mind.  "I did not love you when we first wed, you _know_ this; stop acting as if though it is news to you."

"You had some feeling of affection towards me," her husband argued. "You are not the type of woman to be wed to a man that you cannot stand."

Arya rolled her grey eyes and glanced away. "And yet…"

Aegon rose from her side, an offended air to him as he cast his eyes to Visenya in her crib, then back to his wife. 

"And yet." He echoed, and then left the room to Arya and her thoughts.

　


End file.
